Tangled
by Azara-Rayne18
Summary: Yep, it's Tangled, Klaine style. A little cracky, a little angsty, and super romantic. If you've seen the movie, this should be a treat. Kurt and Blaine, with cameos from virtually any other glee characters.
1. Chapter 1

This is the story of how I died.

Oh, don't worry. This is actually a very fun story, and the truth is, it isn't even mine. This is the story of a boy named Blaine. And it starts with the sun.

Now, once upon a time, a single drop of sunlight fell from the heavens, and from this single drop of sun grew a magic, golden flower. It had the ability to heal the sick and injured. Oh, you see that crazy meerkat-faced boy, over there? You might want to remember him. He's kind of important.

Well, centuries passed, and a hop, skip, and a boat ride away, there grew a kingdom. The kingdom was ruled by a beloved king and queen. And the queen, well, she was about to have a baby. Then he got sick. Really sick. She was running out of time; and that's when people usually start to look for a miracle.

Or, in this case, a magic golden flower.

Here's where that meerkat-faced boy comes in. I told you he'd be important. See, instead of sharing the sun's gift, this man, Sebastian Smythe, hoarded it's healing power and used it to keep himself young for hundreds of years. And all he had to do was sing a special song;

Flower, gleam and glow,

Let your power shine,

Make the clock reverse,

Bring back what once was mine.

What once was mine...

Alright, you get the jist. He sings to it, he turns young. Creepy, right?

But, unfortunately, the one time people are looking for his magical golden flower, Sebastian is in too much of a rush to hide it properly. Horrible timing, amiright? In any case, the palace soldiers found it, dug it up, and brought it back to the palace. Not knowing the magic song, they decided to brew it up in a broth, and feed it to the queen, destroying it. Betcha old Sebastian didn't like that.

Now, the magic of the golden flower healed the queen. A healthy baby boy, a prince, was born with beautiful curly hair. I'll give you a hint; that's Blaine.

To celebrate his birth, the king and queen launched a flying lantern into the sky. And for that one moment, everything was perfect.

And then that moment ended.

In the middle of the night, when the whole kingdom was asleep, a shadow stole across the castle grounds. It moved silently, making it into the baby prince's room before anyone knew it was there. I'd be jealous of Sebastian's skill, if it weren't for the fact that he's evil personified. He crept to the prince's cradle, leaned over the child and began to sing:

Flower, gleam and glow,

Let your power shine...

Sure enough, while Blaine snored softly, his curly hair began to glow with a soft, supernatural light. Sebastian touched it with a fingertip and immediately, the years that had fallen on him over the past few months melted away. I know, still very creepy.

Grabbing a pair of scissors from his cloak, Sebastian continued to sing. He cut away a lock of glowing hair.

And it immediately fell, hard and stiff, from his hand. Sebastian gasped in horror as the youth flew from him in a burst of dying power. He woke the child, who began to cry. Sensing that he was soon to be caught, Sebastian stole the baby and just like that, he was gone. The kingdom searched and searched, but they could not find the prince.

And deep within the forest, in a hidden tower, Sebastian raised the child like his own. He quickly found that by brushing Blaine's ever growing hair while making the child sing the special song, he could get a little bit younger, and make the youth last a little bit longer. Yet without Blaine's hair, Sebastian knew that he would quickly grow old and die.

Sebastian had found his new magic flower. But this time, he was determined to keep it hidden. He told young Blaine that the outside world was a dangerous place, filled with horrible selfish people. He told Blaine that the child had to stay within the walls of the tower, where he was safe. But the walls of that tower could not hide everything.

Each year, on Blaine's birthday, the king and queen released thousands of lanterns into the sky in hopes that one day their lost prince would return.


	2. 18 years later

Pavarotti flew silently out the window, little wings fluttering. Blaine turned from counting to a hundred just in time to see Pavarotti's little yellow tail feathers flit out the crack between the two wooden doors to the outside world. Pavarotti wasn't allowed to go beyond the windowsill; Blaine couldn't follow and it wouldn't be fair. And the only thing Blaine had out there were a few pots of flowers. Hmmm, Blaine would have to trip him up somehow...

"Ha!" Blaine threw the window open. A few bright rays of sunlight filtered through, warming his face. Blaine loved sunlight, he couldn't be sure why. Blaine pretended to be stumped, smoothing his hands through the crown of his head and grabbing a loose length of one of his curls, "Hmm, well, I guess Pavarotti's not hiding out here..."

A whistle-y bird laugh came from the farthest pot on the left, Blaine tossed his curl at it, roping the length of hair around the little bird and hoisted him up by one leg, "Gotcha!" Blaine laughed and let Pavarotti down on the ledge, "That's twenty-two for me... How about twenty-three out of forty-five?"

Pavarotti cocked his head at Blaine in a definite frown.

"Okay," Blaine sat down on the window ledge, "What do you want to do?"

Pavarotti instantly flew from his perch, soaring out into the air, daring Blaine to join him. Blaine laughed, "Yeah, I don't think so. I like it in here and so do you." Pavarotti didn't look convinced, "Oh, come on, Pavarotti, it's not so bad in there."

And it honestly wasn't. Sebastian was careful to make sure that Blaine never had a reason to leave his tower; anything he could get to entertain Blaine was brought from the outside world. True, Blaine was running out of room to paint on his walls, and reading the same three books a thousand times was getting a little old. But there was always his chores to do, his hair to brush, ballet, puzzles, darts, baking...

That afternoon, Blaine moved a clock from his wall; it wasn't like he needed to keep time for anything. Behind it was a beautiful, blank stretch of wall. Canvas, for Blaine's painting. The boy ran to his cupboard, pulling out his brushes and his set of paints. He frowned; he was running a little low. He would have to see if he could ask Sebastian for a little more. But he had just enough for today.

He started with the night sky, a solid stretch of blackish-blue that he knew well from looking out his window. The grass was trickier; he'd seen it down below, stretching like a carpet around the base of his tower, but it just looked like a bunch of green. He imagined that it felt wonderful, though; cool and soft and alive. He drew himself sitting on it, his black curls stretching behind him like a stream. He'd seen the stream from his window as well, a streak of blue below him. Most importantly, he drew the floating lights. Blaine took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to remember almost a year back.

They rose up into the sky in a bunch, each one a slightly different yellow-orange glow. Blaine drew them in as best he could, but somehow it was never quite the same. There wasn't the wild joy he remembered from watching those lights rise up into the sky. There was, however, the longing, the desperate, wild ache of his desire to be out there, watching it for real.

Tomorrow would be his eighteenth birthday and the lights would rise in the sky again.

Maybe, just maybe, Sebastian would let him go.


	3. Our Hero and Our Villain

A hop, skip, and a boat ride away, in that tiny kingdom where Blaine was born, the houses around the palace were quiet. People were just starting to wake up in the morning, anticipating a day of work in preparation for the festival tomorrow.

No one noticed the three men hopping on top of the palace roof.

Unnoticed by the palace guards strutting down below (it should probably be noted that the place has terrible security), the partners leaped lightly from ledge to ledge, careful not to draw attention to themselves or lose their balance. The man in front, a small, light-fingered boy with light brown hair, peered out from behind an outcropping in the palace walls to track the progress of the guard strutting below.

He was distracted almost instantly by the beauty of the kingdom sprawling around him.

"Wow," He said, "I could get used to a view like this."

His name was Porcelain, and besides being a devilishly handsome and incredibly fashionable rogue, he was also the best thief in the kingdom, and possibly the world, in his own humble opinion. An angelic, pale face and clear glasz eyes hid a calculating mind and strong conviction. Behind him, his partners, Karofsky and Azimio, exchanged looks. They were a broad, motley pair, more adept to bullying and intimidation than Porcelain's more sophisticated tactics. They needed each other for now. None of that, however, changed the fact that Porcelain was goofing off on their most important heist yet. Being caught trying to steal from the palace equated to high treason, and both men were feeling the tension of rope around their necks.

"Porcelain, C'mon," Karofsky barked.

"Hold on," Porcelain said smoothly, holding out a pale hand. He waited a long beat, then straightened his back, "Yep. I'm used to it. Guys, I want a castle."

"You do this job," Karofsky hissed, "And you can buy your own castle." A greedy smile stretched across his broad face. He grabbed the back of Porcelain's (baby blue, custom-made, genuine leather) jacket and dragged him towards the loose tile they'd found over the throne room. Porcelain didn't miss the way Karofsky's stubby fingers lingered on the back of his neck. He would be glad to get rid of the two men as soon as possible.

Azimio silently ripped up the loose tile, exposing the throne room below. Karofsky quickly wrapped the rope around Porcelain's middle, and then the pair used their brute strength to lower Porcelain down.

The throne room was so full of sunlight, none of the guards noticed the extra beam into the room. The sun was the symbol of the kingdom of McKinley. Purple flags with a bright yellow sun hung in a circle around the thrones. There was one for the King, one for the Queen, and one for the elder princess and heir to the throne, Princess Rachel. Each of these seats were faded from years of housing royal bottoms. The final and smallest throne had been empty for years, the soft purple fabric as pristine as the day it was made. And in front, surrounded by a half circle of guards, was the lost prince's crown.

It was a stunning thing, and Porcelain's inner fashionista swelled up at the sight of it. He gripped the leather strap of his satchel more tightly. For most of McKinley, the crown was a symbol of hope that their lost prince might return. But Porcelain could care less about the lost prince; it wasn't like he'd ever really seen him. And that crown was too gorgeous to be out of use for so long...

The guards stood silently, facing the front doors. None of them expected an attack from above. Porcelain got the crown into the satchel and prepared to tug on the rope when a guard sneezed. Well, Porcelain never could resist a little theatrical performance.

"Ah," He sighed, "Hay fever?" And then tugged on the rope.

By the time the guards realized that he'd taken the crown, he was halfway out of the city, running along with his comrades.

"Can't you picture me in a castle of my own?" Porcelain asked breezily, "Cause I certainly can. All the things we've seen and it's only eight in the morning! Gentleman, this is a very big day!"

Meanwhile, in the tower, Blaine was putting away his paints. His hands trembled. "This is it. This is a very big day, Pavarotti. I'm finally gonna do it. I'm gonna ask him!"

"Hey, Tiger! Let down your hair!" Sebastian's familiar voice floated in from Blaine's window.

Blaine took a deep breath, "It's time!" Pavarotti straightened himself up, giving Blaine a look that clearly said, 'Don't lose your nerve.' "I know, I know, now come on, don't let him see you." Blaine set Pavarotti on a ledge behind a curtain, trusting on his yellow feathers to help him blend in with the bright painting behind him.

"Blaine?" Sebastian said, "I'm not getting any younger down here." His voice was sweet, but there was an impatient edge beneath it.

"Coming, Sebastian," Blaine stepped out onto the window ledge, quickly hooking his curling hair over a special hook Sebastian had installed over the window. There wasn't a door in the tower, hadn't been one for as long as Blaine could remember. Blaine threw the rest of his curls over the edge, waiting for the tightness in his scalp to signal that Sebastian had looped it around and stepped into it. With several mighty heaves, Blaine managed to get Sebastian up to his window. "Hi. Welcome home, Sebastian."

The man who had raised Blaine was just slightly physcially older than he was, (although he looked much older in the mornings) with a pointed, handsome face and dark green eyes. "Oh, Blaine. How you manage to do that every single day without fail - it looks absolutely exhausting, darling."

"Oh," Blaine panted, still trying to catch his breath, "It's nothing."

"Then I don't know why it takes so long," Sebastian mocked, poking Blaine's nose with one long finger. He then burst out laughing, revealing a row of straight white teeth, "Darling, I'm just teasing."

Blaine laughed nervously, "Alright. So, Sebastian, as you know tomorrow is a very big day..."

But Sebastian wasn't listening, staring at his reflection. He grabbed for Blaine, closing strong fingers around the boy's wrist, "Blaine, look in that mirror. You know what I see? I see a strong, confident, beautiful young man." Blaine beamed, looking at his own reflection. "Oh, look, you're here too. Ha! I'm just teasing, stop taking everything so seriously." Sebastian sighed, frowning at a tiny wrinkle that appeared over his eyes when he laughed.

"Okay," Blaine said, "So, Sebastian, as I was saying. Tomorrow is..."

Sebastian grabbed at a tiny spot on his wrist, his frown deepening, "Blaine, I'm feeling a little run down. Would you sing for me, dear? Then we'll talk."

"Oh! Of course, Sebastian!" Blaine knew the ritual better than anything else in his life. Within seconds, Sebastian was seated in his chair, Blaine in a stool below him. Blaine shoved a length of his hair and a brush into Sebastian's hair, and began to sing his special song as quickly as he could,

"Flower gleam and glow,

Let your power shine,

Make the clock reverse,

Bring back what once was mine."

"Wait," Sebastian called, but Blaine was already into the second verse. He quickly brushed through the boy's hair and felt a sharp zap as youth and strength flowed into him. He'd almost missed it. "Blaine!"

"So, Sebastian, earlier I was saying tomorrow is a pretty big day, and you didn't really respond, so I'm just going to tell you; it's my birthday!" Blaine leaped forward to wrap his friend in a hug, "Ta da!"

"No, no, can't be," Sebastian said, pushing Blaine gently away, "I distinctly remember, your birthday was last year."

"That's the funny thing about birthdays," Blaine said, "They're kind of an annual thing." Sebastian's expression didn't soften, so Blaine sighed and sat down, "Sebastian, I'm turning eighteen, and I wanted to ask... what I really want for this birthday... actually, what I've wanted for quite a few birthdays..."

"Okay, Blaine," Sebastian interrupted, "Please, stop with the mumbling. You know how I feel about the mumbling. Blah, blah, blah, blah... it's very annoying, I'm just teasing, you're adorable, I love you so much, darling." Sebastian laughed and walked away. Perhaps it was best not to say anything... but then Blaine caught sight of Pavarotti rooting him on from a corner and it simply flowed out of him.

"I want to see the floating lights."

Sebastian froze, "What?"

"I was hoping you would take me to see the floating lights," Blaine said, gesturing towards his new painting.

"Oh," Sebastian grinned, looking back to the basket of food he'd brought home with him, "You mean the stars."

"That's the thing," Blaine said, "I've charted stars and they're always constant, but these? They appear every year on my birthday, Sebastian, only on my birthday. And I can't help but feel that they're meant for me. I need to see them, Sebastian, and not just from my window, in person. I have to know what they are."

"You want to go outside?" Sebastian said, "Why Blaine?" And he shut the window, plunging the tower into darkness, "Blaine, you wouldn't survive out there. You're too gullible, too naive. They'd eat you up alive. There are so many terrible things out there; cannibals, snakes, men with fangs that would drink your blood. You just aren't strong enough to face all that. Promise me something?"

Blaine drew close to Sebastian, frightened by the darkness and his words, "Yes?"

"Don't ever ask to leave this tower again," Sebastian said darkly.

Blaine frowned, large hazel eyes headed to the floor, "Yes, Sebastian."

Sebastian looked over the boy he'd raised. Blaine was young, but growing, and getting restless. He needed more than someone to raise him, and he was getting more beautiful every day... Sebastian grinned, and did something he'd never done before. He pulled the boy into his arms and kissed him.

Blaine gasped. There was something strange, and darkly possessive in the way Sebastian moved his lips against his. But it set a fire inside Blaine, one that licked roughly at his insides while Sebastian pressed his body closer to him. Sebastian was so handsome... Blaine whimpered and held on tight, feeling Sebastian twist his hands through his hair.

Sebastian was no longer content raising the boy. He wanted to own him completely. He pulled away, taking in Blaine's large, glassy eyes and swollen lips, "I love you very much, dear."

"I love you more," Blaine whispered.

"I love you most," Sebastian landed a kiss against Blaine's hair, "Don't forget it. You'll regret it. I know what's best. Now, ta da, my flower, I'll see you in the morning." Blaine silently let him down, neither of them mentioning the shift Sebastian had made in their relationship. Blaine felt tingly, but strangely used. It was what he wanted, what his body needed. Then why did he feel so empty? He watched his... brother? Friend? Lover? Walk away, wishing he could follow him, and finally sighed out three longing words.

"I'll be here."


	4. Alone at Last

Karofsky, Azimio, and Porcelain raced through the forest, having abandoned their getaway boat at the shore. They'd bought a little time from the guards, but there were still palace minions hot on their trail. Porcelain paused a moment to catch his breath. That crown was heavier than he thought, ramming against his side with every bounce of the satchel. He leaned against a tree.

And caught the wanted posters of him and his comrades.

"Ah!" Ignoring the irrationality of the guards posting wanted pictures of him in a forest where nobody lived, Porcelain ripped his poster off the trunk and stared at it, his eyes widening in horror, "Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, this is bad. This is very, very bad, this is really bad!"

Karofsky and Azimio looked up at him, worry in their eyes, each clutching the stitches against their sides. Porcelain stared at the poster for one more moment, confirming his fears before turning it to the other men, "They just can't get my clothes right!"

The vest in the poster was clearly a blend of some kind - as if he'd ever wear that - and what was that on his head? A fedora? It totally cluttered his outfit! They were determined to ruin his reputation, weren't they?

Karofsky rolled his eyes, stretching to his full height, "Who cares?"

"Well, it's easy for you to say!" Porcelain said sourly, "You guys look amazing."

The sound of hoof beats and neighing distracted him. The royal guard had caught up to them. Porcelain shoved the poster into his satchel - couldn't keep that monstrosity lying around where anyone could see it - and ran after his buddies.

Straight into a rock wall.

The face of it was steep, far too steep to climb and too tall to scale in a single jump. Porcelain didn't bother trying, placing a palm flat on the cold stone wall and then turning to his companions.

"Alright, okay," Porcelain said, thinking as quickly as he could with the royal guards on his trail and evidence of treason hanging in the satchel on his side, "Give me a boost, and I'll pull you guys up."

Karofsky and Azimio glanced at each other, sizing themselves up. "Give us the satchel first," Karofsky grunted.

"Wha?" Porcelain shrieked, "I just -" He clutched the satchel tighter to his side, away from the hand Karofsky was extending for it. He saw the suspicion flash in the men's eyes, and covered quickly, "I can't believe that after all we've been through together, you don't trust me?" Porcelain pressed a hand to his chest, a horrified, hurt expression stealing over his face.

Karofsky and Azimio stared back, unimpressed. Porcelain knew when he was being stone-walled. He adopted a carelessly bored expression of his own.

"Ouch."

With a raised eyebrow, Porcelain handed the satchel over. The weight of it almost hurt, leaving his fingers, but he kept his face impassive. Showing any signs of pain at parting with the crown would make his comrades even more suspicious. And quite frankly, he wasn't sure how much more thinking they could take.

Karosky threw the satchel carelessly over his shoulder, the crown inside clanging in protest. Porcelain winced, but didn't say anything; the trick here was to work as quickly as possible. Azimio, the stockier of the two brutes by just a fraction, formed the base of their little three man chain. Karofsky climbed on top of Azimio's shoulders, bracing his sweaty palms across the rock. Perfect. Porcelain tried to hide his smirk as he scrambled up the two men's bodies.

He finished his climb with a swift and vicious kick to Karofsky's face. It was partially for being so careless with Porcelain's crown, and partially so that, in the moment Karofsky was looking away and bringing his palms off the wall to shield his face, Porcelain could slip the satchel off his shoulder.

Porcelain wasn't the most wanted thief in the kingdom for lack of talent.

He turned back to his unsuspecting partners. Karosky's red face and dirty hand extended upwards, "Now help us up, pretty boy."

Porcelain grinned, "Sorry," And then he revealed the satchel, "But my hands are full."

Some things in life were just priceless. Porcelain beamed and ran away, reveling in the agonized, "PORCELAIN!" behind him. Leaving a guy behind like that wasn't usually Porcelain's style, but he couldn't help but feel like Karofsky deserved it. The boy he'd drugged and raped the other night in the kingdom was a pretty large reason.

In his vengeful joy, Porcelain nearly ran straight into the castle guards coming up behind him. He quickly changed paths, running through the forest, hearing, "Retrieve that satchel at any cost!" and then "We've got him now, Sylvester."

Sylvester? That was an odd name for a horse. Kurt considered telling the guards that until a slew of arrows pelted the area his head had occupied moments before. Okay, less snarking, more running. Got it.

Porcalain's agility served him well, darting between rocks and over trees until only one soldier was following him on a pure white mare. They were gaining on him rapidly, but Porcelain grabbed a low hanging vine and seized on a way out of this chase. He grabbed it and kicked off the ground hard, his momentum sending him swirling around a large tree. He finished his swing by gracefully kicking the guard in the face and taking his place on the mare's back.

"Hyaa!" Porcelain laughed, urging the horse further, "Ha ha!" Until the horse jerked to a stop and turned to stare at him. Porcelain kicked at her sides, "Come on, flea back. Forward!" The horse didn't move, her eyes darting to the satchel in his hand with almost human understanding. Porcelain barely had time to yank the strap away before the horse was trying to bite the satchel away from him. Crap. "No…. no…. stop it! Stop. It!" The horse flew off at a gallop, grabbing for the satchel with her teeth. She finally got ahold of it and tried to yank it away from him, "Give it to me. Give it…" Porcelain pulled it in the opposite direction, grunting, until, with a mighty tug, it flew out of the mare's teeth.

And out of Porcelain's hand.

And onto a branch that just happened to be hanging over a steep cliff.

This was just not his day.

Porcelain glanced at the mare and knew that she was thinking the same thing he was. They both lunged for the satchel, tripping each other and barely outdistancing each other to get to it. For a moment, he was certain the horse was trying to kill him. By crawling along the bottom of the tree branch, Porcelain managed to just barely grab the satchel. He held it towards the mare, "Ha!"

The next thing he knew, the tree branch had broken and he was tumbling through thin air.

In years to come, Porcelain would never quite figure out how he survived that fall. The next thing he remembered was moss grazing his cheek and the realization that the horse could still be after him. He crawled behind a rock until the mare passed him, then darted behind a curtain of moss just as she came by again.

In an effort to put more difference between himself and Sylvester the psychotic police horse. Porcelain followed the rock cropping shielding him to where it opened into a picturesque, mossy glade.

He had to take a moment to stop and stare. Because, jutting up into the pale blue sky was a tower. It was old, made of rock and covered with moss and vines, almost a part of the beautiful forest surrounding it. It was surrounded on all sides by cliffs and a high waterfall, if he hadn't come onto just the right spot, he never would have found it.

Sylvester's high, enraged whinny pierced the air like a whistle, reminding Porcelain that he was still on the run. Well, when providence presents him with a hiding place, who is he to spurn its gift?

Porcelain hiked over to the base of the tower and searched around it, looking for a door. He couldn't find one. That was odd; who would build a tower without a door? He looked up, way, way up to where the tower sat silhouetted by the sky and saw a window. It looked abandoned, and he wasn't really in a position to care if it wasn't. Shrugging, he walked back to the cave and grabbed two of the arrows that had survived his fall intact. He climbed the tower as the sun fell over the cliffs.

By the end of the climb, he was panting with exhaustion, his arms burning. He slammed the window shut and leaned against a nearby column, taking just a moment to catch his breath.

If Porcelain had taken a moment to look around, he might have noticed that the room he'd climbed into didn't look quite so abandoned from the inside. There wasn't a cobweb to be seen, the air smelled of drying paint, and recently lit candles were cooling in their votives. But he only had eyes for his satchel. Porcelain opened it to see the crown, still shiny and perfect, gleaming at him.

"Alone at last," Porcelain cooed.

He didn't notice the small, dark haired boy sneaking up behind him. Blaine bit his lip, dark eyes locked on the intruder and his hands firmly gripped around the handle of his frying pan, the only weapon he could find. This strange man was bigger than he was, and Blaine knew that in a fair fight, he would be quickly overpowered. With strength Blaine didn't even know he had, the boy swung up the frying pan and sent it flying down across the back of the strange man's head.

Porcelain fell to the ground, unconscious.

Blaine shrieked and ran away.


	5. Ever

There was a mannequin in Blaine's tower room, made for pinning the clothing Sebastian taught him to make for himself. Blaine reused it as a shield, diving behind it while the strange man dropped, motionless to the floor. He peered out from behind it, waiting until his heart slowed down and the man still hadn't moved to hesitantly walk forward.

The man had crumpled in a heap on the floor, but Blaine could tell just from looking that the man was bigger than he was. The thought send a shiver down his spine.

Blaine grabbed his frying pan in both hands, abandoning his shield in favor of sneaking up on the intruder. Which was, admittedly, easier to do when he was knocked unconscious, but Blaine was new at this. What if Blaine had killed him? Blaine checked to make sure he was breathing, and he was - the soft blue of his jacket rising up and down with each breath. Good. Blaine hesitantly poked the edge of the pan into the man's face, and backed away sharply in case he woke up. He didn't. Very good.

Blaine used the pan to gently maneuver his head to the side, so he could breathe better - hey, when you knocked someone unconscious with a blunt weapon, the least you could do is help them breathe, right? He glanced to Pavarotti for help.

The little bird hopped over to a picture Sebastian had drawn on Blaine's floor; a fearsome man with sharp pointy teeth. The message was clear; check for fangs.

Blaine did so, using the handle to lift the man's upper lip. Nope, firm, straight white teeth, just like his. Interesting. Blaine pursed his lips and finally gathered the strength to move closer, close enough to flip away the one errant lock of hair covering the man's face.

He was... handsome. Blaine had read the word in books, but had never thought of anyone besides Sebastian who fit that description. But this man... boy really, not much older than Blaine himself... he was definitely handsome. With his soft red lips and white skin glowing in a patch of afternoon sunlight, Blaine thought he might even be more handsome than Sebastian.

Blaine gasped softly, a strange feeling creeping into his gut. Like when he imagined the ground beneath his feet, almost like kissing Sebastian. He leaned forward, captivated by the other boy's long eyelashes. He wondered what his eyes would be like. And then the boy opened them.

They were lovely.

Blaine brought the pan down on his head again.

Of course Blaine, still young and small and new to the intricacies of strange men in his house, now had no idea what to do. This strange man simply couldn't lie in front of his window like that. Blaine looked frantically for a place for him, any place... and his eyes fell first on a large green wardrobe standing against his wall. That would work.

Then there was the subject of moving the strange man over to the bureau. Blaine tried to push him, shove him, until finally creating a makeshift pulley with his hair. It tickled Blaine's sweet young sense of humor to think that this stranger; who had no doubt come to steal the hair from his head, was unconscious now and wrapped up in more of it than he'd ever need.

It took a dozen tries to get the intruder into the closet. Blaine tried swinging him into it, shoving him into it, lifting him from the inside. There was one moment where he thought he had it, only to be nearly crushed by the larger man's body. Finally he shoved the man inside and moved a chair against the doors, trapping him there until Sebastian came.

"Okay, I've got a person in my closet," Blaine chanted to himself, "I've got a person in my closet..." It was then that Blaine caught a reflection of himself in the mirror. He was crouching, frying pan in hand, ready to fight the man, should he try to attack Blaine again. He looked... heroic. How pleased would Sebastian be to realize that his little Blaine could take care of himself? "I've got a person in my closet!" Blaine giggled, "Oh, too weak to handle myself out there, Sebastian. Well, ha ha... tell that to my frying pan."

And if Blaine got a little overzealous and accidentally brained himself with said frying pan, well, no one was around to see.

Blaine was examining the rising bruise over his eyebrow when something from behind him caught the light. It was in the bag the man had dropped, the thing he'd been cooing over when Blaine sneaked up on him. Blaine knew it was rude to look through a persons things - Sebastian told him so whenever he touched anything of his - but Blaine was pretty certain it was also rude to try and steal someone's hair, so he didn't feel too badly. Blaine picked it out of the bag and stared. It was a circle, fashioned with what looked and felt like cold sunlight. All around the circle were little spikes, covered with shining colors that stayed where they were, even more vivid than Blaine's paints.

Blaine loved pretty things, and he was curious about what this pretty thing was. It looked like something to wear, like clothes but... firmer.

Blaine tried it around his wrist first, looking to Pavarotti for approval. The little bird shook his head, cooing in disapproval. Next Blaine tried looking through one of the shiny colors, but that didn't seem to be it either. He turned to the mirror, and an idea came to him. Carefully, he turned the circle of sunlight with the pointy part facing up, and gently dropped the circlet of shining gold onto his head.

It fit there like it was made for him, a cold heavy weight that nonetheless felt certain, like it belonged. Pavarotti stared, his beady little eyes widening as much as possible... then he resolutely shook his head.

"Hey, Tiger! Let down your hair!"

Blaine jumped at the sound of Sebastian's voice. For once in his life, Blaine had forgotten all about the other man. Blaine grabbed the satchel and the circle and jumped them in a clay pot by the edge of the room. "Coming, Sebastian!"

"I have a big surprise!" Sebastian yelled cheerfully as Blaine's hair fell down to him.

"Uh, I do too..." Blaine called back. The length of hair in his hands tightened, and Blaine began hauling Sebastian up the tower.

"Oo, I bet my surprise is bigger!"

"I seriously doubt it," Blaine said in a quiet sing-song, glancing at the still silent wardrobe behind him. Blaine finally pulled back on the hair, hard, and Sebastian appeared outside his window.

"I brought back parsnips," Sebastian said, "I'm going to make hazelnut soup for dinner. Your favorite. SURPRISE!"

Yep. Blaine's was bigger.

"Well, Sebastian, there is something I want to tell you - "

Sebastian cut him off with a kiss.

Blaine moaned into it softly, gasping as Sebastian's hands gripped even lower than last time, grabbing on to Blaine's butt, which shouldn't be hot but it really was and why was Blaine's head going fuzzy all of the sudden? "Oh, Blaine. You know I hate leaving you after a fight. Especially when I've done absolutely nothing wrong." Sebastian let Blaine go and swaggered over to the counter, setting out ingredients.

Blaine shook his head to clear it. "Okay, I've been thinking a lot about what you said earlier..."

Sebastian tensed, "I hope you're not still talking about the stars..."

"... Floating lights," Blaine said, "And, yes, I'm leading up to it..."

"... Because I really thought we dropped the issue, sweetheart."

"No, Sebastian," Blaine begged, "I'm just saying. You think I'm not strong enough to handle myself out there." He inched toward the closet. Once Sebastian saw the man and realized that Blaine had protected himself, he'd be sure to let Blaine go.

Sebastian's hand tensed on the knife he was using to chop up the parsnips. "Oh, darling, I know you're not strong enough to handle yourself out there"

"But if you just - "

"Blaine, we're done talking about this."

"Trust me..."

"Blaine."

"I know what I'm-"

"Blaine!"

"Oh, come on-"

"Enough with the lights, Blaine!" Sebastian shouted. His eyes became dark, "You are not leaving this tower! Ever!"

Blaine froze, his hand on the chair just next to where it locked the closet. It was as if he'd swallowed the circle of sunlight from the satchel; a cold, heavy weight dropped into his stomach. His hand slipped off the chair, leaving the stranger locked safely inside. All of those years Sebastian had promised him 'When you're older, when you're older'... had that been a lie?

"Oh, great," Sebastian sunk into his chair, "Now I'm the bad guy."

In that moment, Blaine looked around his tower and saw the rest of his life. He looked up at the mural, where he'd poured every ounce of longing he had... to feel grass... to see true light for just once in his life. He was never going to have that?

Not with Sebastian. Sebastian would never let him. But perhaps someone else...

"All I was gonna say, Sebastian, is that..." Blaine stepped forward, fanning his hair about behind him to cover the chair. "I know what I want for my birthday now."

"And what. Is that?" Sebastian groaned.

"... New paint?" Blaine asked, "The paint made from the white shells you once brought me?" It was so long ago, Blaine was surprised at himself for remembering it. All he could really remember was that Sebastian was gone for days...

"Well, that is a very long trip, Blaine. Almost three days time," Sebastian said.

"I just thought it was a better idea than the... stars."

Sebastian sighed and came close, holding Blaine much like a lover, but with a grip too tight for love, "Are you sure you'll be alright on your own?"

"I know I'm safe as long as I'm here."

Blaine let Sebastian out of the tower, Sebastian's words echoing in his head, "I'll be back in three days time." And a fierce, desperate, burning hope in his stomach.

"I love you very much, dear."

"I love you more."

"I love you most."

Blaine waved as Sebastian faded away, then ran back into his tower. Another look around it convinced him that he couldn't stay here forever. Not without one day of freedom. Not when he'd never seen the floating lights. And if Sebastian wasn't going to take him to see them, he would have to find someone else. The person in the closet was strange, beautiful, frightening... but he came from outside. And Blaine was going to find a way to make this stranger take him outside, too.

Blaine took his frying pan carefully in hand, and carefully eased his chair away from the closet doors. He took a deep breath, and used his hair as a lasso, whipping it around the door handle and pulling hard. Thank heavens he'd practiced...

The strange man swayed gracefully on the spot for a moment, then fell flat on his face, backside sticking in the air. He scraped across Blaine's floor with a series of loud squeaks and came to rest at Blaine's feet.

Okay, so he wasn't perfect. But Blaine was too desperate to care. Blaine twirled a strand of hair between his fingers. All he needed was something to tie his prisoner up in...


	6. The Smoulder

Porcelain woke up to a horrid pecking sensation in his ear.

"Ah!" He shrieked, sending a tiny yellow... what was that? Some kind of pigeon? Anyway, whatever it was, it flew away and he had places to go-

Oh.

Apparently he didn't.

Porcelain quickly realized that he was tied to a chair in the middle of some sort of colorful, dapper prison. Well, this wasn't good. This wasn't good at all. Porcelain tried to struggle away, only to realize that the thing binding him to the chair didn't feel like rope. It was softer, for one thing, and silky and made up of dark strands. It also stretched away from where it was tying him to his chair, over and around and up into the rafters of the room. It curled and twisted as it went, and seemed to be connected to a person-shaped shadow above him. The wheels in Porcelain's head clicked slowly into place. "Is this... hair?"

"Struggling," The shadow gasped in a slightly high pitched voice, "Struggling is pointless."

"Huh?" Porcelain said.

The figure leaped lightly down from his perch, still sticking to the shadows at the far end of the room. "I know why you're here. And I'm not... afraid of you."

"What?" Porcelain felt frightfully out of his depth, not to mention confused. The figure stepped into the light.

Now, there was one thing it's necessary to know about Porcelain. He was gay. Gay, gay, gay, gay, gay, gay, gay. Not that he minded that; the kingdom of McKinley, where he'd been raised, was not particularly concerned who wanted to be with whom, and Porcelain would rather be happy scoring all the pretty boys he could find than miserable with one pretty girl. But he did like pretty boys. And the boy that stepped out of those shadows was stunning.

A sweet, open face with large honey brown eyes, long, sweeping lashes, a soft pink mouth and glowing bronze skin. A quick glance downwards revealed broad shoulders, a softly tapering waist, and a trim, delicate form that stirred some urges Porcelain had been pushing down for his work for a long time. A quick glance back up revealed A determined expression and long, long, long curly dark hair.

"Who are you?" The boy asked, thick triangular eyebrows rising on a high forehead, "And how did you find me?"

"Ah ha," Porcelain said.

The boy stepped closer, raising a - frying pan? Well, okay - frying pan into the air in a clear threat, "Who are you, and how did you find me?"

This was no ordinary being, and therefore deserved no ordinary answer. It was time for the patented Porcelain charm. He cleared his throat, "I know not who you are, nor how I came to find you. But may I just say..." Porcelain wagged his own eyebrows and grinned, "Hi." The boy pouted slightly, unimpressed. "How ya doing? The name's Porcelain. How's your day goin', huh?"

The boy scoffed, and crouched into an amateur attack position. Okay, so maybe hitting on him right out the gate wasn't the best idea. "Who else knows my location, Porcelain?"

"Alright, Curly..."

"Blaine."

"Ew. Here's the deal. I was in a situation, gallivanting through the forest. I came across your tower, I climbed it, and th-" The satchel. How could he have forgotten the satchel? "Ho! Oh no, where is my satchel?"

The threatening look on the boys face - which, in all honestly, wasn't that frightening; more like a bunny rabbit baring it's teeth - melted into a look of smug satisfaction that was somehow even more adorable. "I've hidden it. Somewhere you'll never find it."

It took Porcelain three seconds. "It's in that pot, isn't it?"

Blaine must have knocked him out again, because the next thing Pocelain knew that bird was back in his ear canal. "Ah! Will. you. stop. that?" He rubbed his ear against his shoulder, trying to draw out the ticklish sting.

"Now it's hidden where you'll never find it."

"Hmmm..." Porcelain wasn't sure if it was the boy's skill or the onset of a concussion, but he really couldn't see any other convenient hiding places.

Blaine began stalking slowly around him, like a puppy poised for the kill. "So, what do you want with my hair? To cut it?"

"What?"

"Sell it?"

"No!" Porcelain said, "Listen. The only thing I want to do with your hair is to get out of it - literally!"

"You- wait." Blaine's eyebrows drew together, "You don't want my hair?"

"Why on earth would I want your hair?" Porcelain asked. "Look, I was being chased, I saw a tower, I climbed it. End of story." Porcelain was beginning to pout himself, and heaven knows wrinkles wouldn't look good on him.

"You're... telling the truth?"

"Yes!" Porcelain said.

Blaine, the young, trusting thing he clearly was, seemed to believe him. But his pet had other ideas. Porcelain blinked as the bird thing fluttered into his line of vision. He could have sworn the pigeon drew one wing across it's own throat in a kill gesture and then _pointed at him._ Then it flew over to Blaine's palm. Blaine turned his back on him - man, he was pretty from the back, too - and started talking to it.

Whoa. He really needed to get out of here.

He tried to scoot himself toward the door, barely hearing bits and pieces of Blaine's conversation. "Need someone to take me", "doesn't have fanges", and "what choice do I have?" being the particular pieces. Porcelain froze as the boy sighed and turned back to him. "Okay, Porcelain. I'm prepared to offer you a deal."

"Deal?" Porcelain asked. As far as he was concerned there was no deal.

"Look this way," Blaine said, tugging on his hair and turning the chair around. Porcelain was going to assume overturning the chair and knocking Porcelain down on his face was an accident on Blaine's part.

"Do you know what these are?"

Porcelain glanced up at the painting Blaine had uncovered on the wall. It was a lot of rising lights in the sky. That looked very familiar, in fact, it looked a lot like... "You mean that lantern thing they do for the Prince?" Who's damn crown was beginning to be way more trouble than it was worth.

"Lanterns," Blaine whispered, his tongue tripping over the unfamiliar word. It sounded special... wonderful. "I knew they weren't stars." He shook the dreams out of his head and his voice, when it next floated down to Porcelain, was stern, "Well, tomorrow evening they will light the night sky with these... lanterns. You will act as my guide, take me to these lanterns, and return me home safely. Then, and only then, will I return your satchel to you. That is my deal."

"Yeah," Kurt grunted and pushed himself onto his side. Which was no mean feat, considering the very heavy chair he was strapped to. "No can do. Unfortunately, the kingdom and I are not 'simpatico' at the moment, so I won't be taking you anywhere."

Blaine exchanged looks with his bird, dropped lightly to his feet, and with one practiced motion, used his hair to pull Porcelain back to a seated position.

"Something brought you here, Porcelain. Call it what you will; fate. Destiny..."

"A horse?" Porcelain deadpanned.

"But I have made the decision to trust you."

"A horrible decision, really."

"But trust me when I tell you this," Blaine pulled him in close and Porcelain realized that this tiny person had a lot more fire than he would have guessed. Blaine dropped his voice down low, "You can tear this tower apart brick by brick. But without my help, you will never find your precious satchel."

Porcelain cleared his throat nervously, "Let me just get this straight. I take you to see the lanterns, bring you back home, and you'll give me back my satchel?"

"I promise." Ugh, promises. Kurt had one too many of those broken in his lifetime. His expression must have shown his thoughts, because Blaine continued, "And when I promise something, I never, ever break that promise." Kurt raised an eyebrow, still unimpressed. "Ever," Blaine said firmly. The bird on his shoulder nodded.

"Alright, listen," Kurt said, not quite believing him, "I didn't want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice. Here comes the smoulder." Kurt dipped his head down, drawing on years of flirting experience and hidden reserves of sexual power to bring out his patented sexy face. He lifted his upper lip in a faux growl, narrowing his eyes and tilting his chin forward in a flirty, come-hither look. Blaine glared back. "This is kind of an off day for me; this doesn't normally happen." Well, he guessed that playing along with this fierce little creature couldn't hurt. At least until he got a kiss... the satchel, dammit, Porcelain don't let your guard down because of a pair of big goo-goo eyes! "Fine, I'll take you to see the lanterns!"

"Really?" Blaine jumped up in excitement, clapping his hands together and dropping Porcelain right on his face. "Oops."

"... You broke my smoulder."


	7. Dagger in the Light

Porcelain grunted, ramming the arrows back into the gray stone of the tower face once again. The fact that Blaine didn't even know where the door to his own house was confused Porcelain, but the day had been weird enough; why not? Porcelain looked up, grey eyes meeting blue sky, at the tiny figure still clutching his thick coil of hair above him.

"You coming, Curly?" Porcelain huffed.

Blaine stared down at him, and then at the grass. It was so far down, but his hair would make it, he knew it would. Blaine's fingers curled around his hair and he clutched them to his chest, trying to slow his heart. "Look at the world," He whispered to Pavarotti, who was fluttering around his head. "It's so close. Should I?" Blaine had almost decided to turn back, he did turn back, when the freshly painted mural caught his eye. This was his only chance. "No. Here I go."

Blaine tossed his hair out the window, waiting for it to finish falling before checking the hook one more time and sliding down it. Porcelain watched him come with impassive, beautiful grey eyes before ducking as Blaine flew past him. Blaine ignored the uncomfortable press of his frying pan against his ribs, the slight burn of his hair sliding across his palm. He stared at the fresh world around him with rapt eyes, giggling at the rush of excitement in his belly, watching as the ground grew closer and closer... Blaine tightened his fist, ignoring the pain as his hair forced him to stop. He stared down at the ground, the grass just beneath his feet. So close.

Hesitantly, Blaine stretched out a single foot, toes splayed, against the grass. It was less sharp than he'd expected; soft and cool and thin. It didn't hurt. Blaine placed his second foot beside it, in a small patch of thin dirt, and let his hair fall beside him. He stood, almost shocked, for a long moment. Then a wide smile stretched over his face.

"It's just like I dreamed," He whispered. Soft wind kicked up around him, caressing his face as his hair tumbled in piles around him. The sun was warm and bright, not just on his face, but everywhere, filling him with light and energy. Blaine felt like his heart would break with happiness. He took a few hesitant steps, chasing the spores of a dandelion, until his feet fell and were caught in a stream, just like the water he used to bathe in, but cold enough to send shivers up his spine and moving all around him. The air felt alive and Blaine realized that here he could breathe. He could do anything; run beyond that cave and dance and chase those lights forever.

Porcelain finally reached the bottom of the tower and stood, watching Blaine, as he raced out towards the cave. Blaine ran through the hanging vines that separated his world from the rest of it, laughing at the soft vines clinging to his face. His hair was flying behind him and his heart was pounding out a brutal beat against his ribs. "I can't believe I did this," He crowed, dancing in the sunlight. Then it hit him, "I can't believe I did this," He gasped pressing a hand to his forehead. Then, with a squeal, "I can't believe I did this! Ah! ... Sebastian would be so furious."

Blaine shook his head, determined to push thoughts of Sebastian's anger out of his head. He ran over to the brook, watching the little creatures dancing in the water. He sat on a rock and dipped his toes in, shivering with delight at the chill, and picked up a soft pink water lily.

"Well, that's okay. I mean, what he doesn't know won't kill him, right?"

Twenty minutes later, Blaine was curled up in a tiny cave he'd been exploring. Porcelain peered in after him, wondering why the boy had suddenly dropped to the floor. Blaine didn't bother explaining focusing on breathing and grabbing his knees, "Oh, my gosh. This would kill him."

Blaine finally picked himself up and distracted himself by running through fallen leaves, kicking them into the air without any thought of picking them up again. "This is so fun!"

But how dare he have fun when he was betraying Sebastian like this? "I am a horrible boyfriend," He announced, forehead flat against the tree he'd been climbing, "I'm going back."

But then he jumped to the ground and tripped and tumbled, and that was so fun that Blaine had to try it again, turning cartwheels and getting tangled up in his hair and screaming, "I am never going back!" He landed in a heap with his hair piled around him, a tiny noise of pure joy passing his lips.

Pure joy! Here he was having pure joy while Sebastian was out there, not even knowing that the person he'd given everything to was deliberately disobeying him! Blaine pulled his hair out from around him and plunked, face down, in the grass, ignoring Porcelain as the other boy came to plop down next to him. "I am a despicable human being," Blaine gasped.

But then a butterfly flew by just as he was lifting his head and Blaine got distracted ("It's so pretty, Porcelain! Look!") and the next thing he knew, he had roped his hair around a high tree branch and was using it to swing himself around the tree. The air was rushing past his face and something deep in his stomach was turning joyful cartwheels and Blaine could only laugh and yell out, "Best. Day. Ever!"

But on the way out towards the kingdom he saw a baby weasel and it reminded him so much of Sebastian that all he could do was drop down and cry.

"You know," A voice came from above him, "I can't help but notice that you seem... a little at war with yourself here."

Blaine looked up, sniffling, "What?"

"Now, I'm only picking up bits and pieces, of course." Porcelain said, "Overprotective lover, forbidden road trip, I mean, this is serious stuff!" Blaine stared back at him, all big eyes and puffy, tear stained cheeks, "But let me ease your conscience. This is part of growing up. A little rebellion, a little adventure, that's good; healthy even." Pavarotti landed on his shoulder with an almost suspicious glare; Porcelain casually brushed him away.

Blaine laughed tearfully, "You think?"

"I know," Porcelain said confidently, "You're way over thinking this, trust me. Does your boyfriend deserve it? No. Would this break his heart and crush his soul? Of course! But you've just got to do it."

Blaine gasped, "Break his heart?"

Porcelain picked a tiny berry off a nearby tree and examined it, "In half."

"Crush his soul?" Blaine stared forward, twisting his hair in his hands.

Porcelain crushed the berry between his fingers, "Like a grape."

"He would be heartbroken, you're right," Blaine said. Porcelain helped pull Blaine to his feet, keeping a steady hand on each elbow.

"I am, aren't I?" Porcelain said, placing a hand to his heart, "Oh, bother. Alright. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm letting you out of the deal."

"What?"

"That's right," Porcelain said loudly, "But don't thank me. Let's just turn around and get you home. Here's your pan; here's your bird." He shoved them both into Blaine's hands and placed an arm around his shoulder, steering the bewildered boy towards his tower, "I get back my satchel, you get back a boyfriend-boyfriend relationship based on mutual trust and voila! we part ways as unlikely friends."

Blaine pushed the bigger man away and found his voice, "No! I am seeing those lanterns."

"Oh, come on!" Porcelain yelled, flapping his hands at Blaine in frustration, "What's it going to take for me to get my satchel back?" He tried to move forward, only to find a frying pan at his throat.

"I will use this." Blaine probably would have remained very threatening indeed if it weren't for the rustling of bushes nearby. Blaine usually jumped on top of furniture when threatened, but there was no furniture here so he leaped onto Porcelain's back, practically trying to scramble up onto his shoulders. "Is it ruffians? Thugs? Have they come for me?" The bush stopped rustling as it's occupant jumped out.

It was an adorable bunny. All brown and white with a perky pink nose. Blaine wanted to cuddle him and name him Wes. "Stay calm," Porcelain said dryly, "It can probably smell fear." Blaine untangled himself from his guide, resisting the urge to tell Porcelain that his shoulders were very nice to cling to. Blaine's face turned pink around the edges.

"Oh," Blaine said, "Sorry. Guess I'm just a little bit jumpy."

Porcelain straightened his jacket and gave Blaine a thoughtful glance, "Probably be best if we avoid ruffians and thugs, though."

"Yeah, that'd probably be best."

"Are you hungry?" Porcelain said brightly, "I know a great place for lunch."

"Umm, where?" Blaine asked, confused at the change of subject. Porcelain gave him a wide grin, closing a hand around the rim of his frying pan.

"Oh, don't you worry. You'll know it when you smell it." And with that rather ominous prophecy, Porcelain dragged Blaine further into the woods.

Near the tower, Sylvester was still searching. She had her nose to the ground, searching for the unmistakable scent of leather jackets and failure. Porcelain was sure to be at the end of it; those sloppy baby criminals loved leather jackets like nothing else.

Sylvester reached a tree with the very image of the criminal that she was looking for. At least, she thought it was him. The poly-blend tracksuit they'd drawn him in was messing up the resemblance. Sylvester carefully covered the outfit with a hoof, then devoured the picture, poly-blend and all. No one was there to see her rage, true, but Sylvester liked to take those extra moments for practice. After all, it's how you act when nobody's around that defines you. Or something like that.

Another opportunity for practice was presented when someone started heading her way. Sylvester took cover behind a boulder that just so happened to be in her exact size and shape. She made a mental note to repay nature handsomely for it's little gift and hid, waiting until the person was practically in front of her to leap out from hiding.

Sebastian jumped as the mare revealed herself, but quickly readjusted his expression into bored superiority. "A palace horse," He scoffed. It wasn't odd to see some around the forest, only... Sebastian's eyes widened, "Where's your rider?" It was as if something very cold was filling him up; visions of tough, fading skin, labored breathing, the death that followed age. And the only thing that could keep him from it. "Blaine," He breathed, "Blaine!"

Sebastian rushed back towards his tower, the walk that had taken almost two hours completed in less than half that time. He could feel the youth, the time, slipping away from him, leaking out in waves. He reached the bottom of the tower at sunset, darkness creeping over the cliffs and swallowing him up. "Blaine! Let down your hair!" Sebastian called, too nervous to think of a good pet name. The tower was still and silent, and Sebastian's heart dropped into his boots, "Blaine?"

The door, it was the only way to get to his flower now. What if the guard had come upon him; had hurt him? A wave of panic swept through Sebastian at the thought of his lover; pale and still on the floor of his room. Another, larger wave swallowed the first up at the thought of the age, the death, that would take him shortly after.

Sebastian's strong arms worked tirelessly, breaking apart all the barriers that were supposed to separate Blaine from the outside world. He burst into the tower room to find it in silent darkness. He scanned the floor, half-expecting to see Blaine curled up, hurt or terrified. No Blaine on the floor, "Blaine?" No Blaine on the upper floor balcony or his bed or the kitchen, "Blaine!" Sebastian ripped the curtains away, sending the last of the late afternoon sunlight spilling into the empty room.

Someone had taken Blaine. Someone had stolen his flower again.

Sebastian ran his hands over his head, panicking, when something caught his eye. A glint of reflected light from under the loose floorboard where Blaine liked to hide things from him. Sebastian peeled up the board to reveal a small satchel, half open, with something shiny glinting out. Sebastian pulled it out and gasped, flinging it from him the instant he recognized it. The lost prince's crown.

It was impossible. No guard could have recognized Blaine, there was no way... Sebastian searched the rest of the satchel to find a wanted poster, torn at the top. Porcelain. A common sneak thief. He must have stolen the crown and thought he'd steal the prince for good measure! Well, Sebastian wasn't going to let those royals take his life again.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, memorizing Porcelain's features. The boy had a hard luck case of the gay face, but Sebastian could hardly think it through the rust of pure hate that filled him. Sebastian crept to the vanity and opened the drawer that Blaine wasn't allowed to touch. A dagger glinted there, and Sebastian raised it to the light, wanting to slice it straight through that Porcelain's chest and into his heart. A life for his life.

It was only fair.


	8. Like Everybody Else, I've Got a Dream

"I know it's around here somewhere," Porcelain announced. He didn't bother to hide his smile as he peered around the trees. Blaine trailed behind him, the boy's long hair tucked under one arm and his frying pan lifted in the other. He was strangely adorable, trusting Porcelain so completely, and a part of Porcelain hated himself for what he was about to do. "Ah, there it is! The Glee Club. Don't worry; very quaint place, perfect for you. Don't want you scaring and giving up on this whole endeavor, now do we?"

Blaine stared forward, large hazel eyes roaming over the tiny wooden cabin nestled into the trees. "Well," He said, holding the frying pan to his chest and beaming over at Porcelain, "I do like singing."

"Yay!" Porcelain waved his fist in front of his face in a parody of sheer joy. He marched Blaine to the front door and threw it open, being sure to give Blaine a clear view of what was inside. "Garcon!" Porcelain announced loudly, "Your finest table, please."

Blaine gasped.

For a moment, Porcelain felt like gasping himself. There were more people in the Glee Club bar than he'd anticipated. The room was filled with kids around Porcelain and Blaine's age, but they all looked bigger. Much bigger.

"You smell that?" Porcelain urged Blaine forward, the small boy tensing under his hands, "Take a deep breath through the nose; really let that seep in. What are you getting? Because to me, it's part man smell, and the other part is really bad man smell. I don't know why, but overall, it just smells like the color brown. Your thoughts?"

Blaine didn't answer; he was busy gazing around in utter horror. A slim Asian girl with blue in her hair was stirring a cauldron full of what looked lizards, and a tiny girl with a pinched face and the name 'SUGAR' written across her chest was getting close to Blaine. Too close. Blaine raised his frying pan a little and tried to step away, then shrieked when he realized he couldn't step that way because someone was _holding his hair_. He turned back, grabbing up what little hair he could, to see a large, tanned skinned ruffian; probably the biggest, staring at Blaine's long black hair in his fingers.

Blaine scurried away, his long strands of hair slipping through the thug's fingers. "That's a lot of hair," The man said.

"He's growing it out," Porcelain quipped, "Is that blood in your Mohawk? Curly, look at this! Look at all the blood in his mohawk! Good sir, that's a lot of blood." Porcelain watched, pushing that guilt down even further as Blaine backed into a large metal chair that whirred as it's occupant turned to growl at him. Blaine jumped and trembled, the little color in his rosy cheeks draining out of them. Porcelain stepped forward with concern that didn't even need to be that forced. "Hey, you don't look so good, Curly. Maybe we should get you home, call it a day." Porcelain took Blaine's elbow - which was still shaking, and steered him toward the door. "Probably better off; this is a five-star joint, after all. And if you can't handle this place, well, maybe you should be back in your tower-"

But just as he was half-dragging Blaine to the door, it slammed shut two inches from Porcelain's nose. The hand of the thug that shut it, a hand almost as big as Porcelain's head, was just barely covering the bottom of one of Porcelain's wanted posters. Porcelain's heart sunk when he realized how desperate the royal guard must be to find him. It sunk even further when the thug asked, "Is this you?"

Porcelain lifted his fingers to reveal the bottom portion of the poster, where he was wearing... a dress. "Ugh. Now they're just being mean."

"Oh, it's him alright." The thugs moved in on them, making Blaine jump and cling closer to Porcelain. The one in the chair, the one who had spoken, grabbed Porcelain, drawing him close. "Tina, go find some guards. That reward's gonna buy me a new chair."

But then Blaine's small hands on Porcelain's back were replaced by large, rough ones, and he was pulled into the arms of the mohawked thug, "I could use the money!"

"What about me? I'm broke! Get back!"

Soon Porcelain was gone, disappeared under a pile of warring thugs. Blaine was shoved aside, frightened and alone. "Please. Stop!"

"We can work this out!" Porcelain called desperately from the center of the group. One thug grabbed his arm, then another, then one at each leg. And arm looped around his neck and a fist hit the top of his head, trying to subdue him. Porcelain tried to slip out of the group, do what he did best, but fights weren't Porcelain's specialty.

"Hey, leave him alone!" Blaine cried, trying to get close enough to help.

"Gentlemen, please," Porcelain called, feeling like he couldn't quite breathe.

Blaine stepped back, realizing that his thin frame wasn't strong enough to push through theirs. He grabbed his frying pan, but the uncoordinated swings only hit armor and shields, "Give me back my guide! Ruffians!" Blaine needed a new plan. He looked up, just as Porcelain broke free. Porcelain tried to run toward Blaine, silly, since the door was the other way, and then was pulled back in. The thugs that had him held him still, allowing the biggest and meanest looking thug of the bunch to draw back his arm. The intent was clear; they were going to beat Porcelain until he couldn't get away and then Blaine would be... Blaine didn't want to think about it. Blaine shook his head, focusing on the unrealistically large antlers decorating the ceiling above the biggest ruffian's head. He swung his hair, recalling careful hours of practice roping things in his room and managed to get his hair around the antler. Blaine threw his whole weight into pulling the antler slooooowly up...

"Oh, oh! Not the nose, not the nose, not the nose..." Porcelain babbled loudly in the background. Blaine ignored him as best he could, waiting until the antler was just high enough and then releasing his trap.

It came down on the thugs head with a thud that vibrated his whole frame.

The room went quiet, the thug frozen in place as everyone else looked right at Blaine. Blaine was too pumped up to care, "Put him down!" The biggest one turned to look at him and he did not look happy. Blaine ignored the undeniable fear that coursed through him, "Okay. I don't know where I am, and I need him to take me to see the lanterns because I have been dreaming about them my entire life. Find your humanity! Haven't any of you ever had a dream?"

Porcelain thought it was kind of cute. Stupid as hell, and the poor boy was probably about to get smeared across the already dirty bar floor, but cute.

Porcelain's concern was justified. As soon as Blaine stopped talking and merely stared at them, his chest heaving with exertion, the largest thug pulled an ax from his back holster. The mohawked gentlemen holding Porcelain placed him on a coat rack, everyone staring silently as the Goliath advanced on a very tiny, terrified David. Blaine backed up, forced against the bar by the mass of muscle advancing on him until they were practically chest to chest. The ruffian spoke.

"I had a dream once."

Porcelain raised an eyebrow. Really?

"I'm Finn," The man said, "And I'm the leader of this group. I'm mean and scary, and violence wise... well, let's just say there's been some violence." Everyone carefully avoided looking at the chalk outline on the floor behind him. "But despite my evil looks, and my temper, I've always wanted to be a famous drummer." He walked Blaine over to a drum set. The boy watched - and freaking smiled - as the boy pounded out a forgettable but fairly good beat. "See I'm not as cruel and vicious as I seem. I'd rather have chops than chop people into pieces. You can count me with the dreamers. Like every body else, I've got a dream."

Really?

And, of course, once the big guy admitted to being a dreamer, everybody else had to chime in as well. Porcelain rolled his eyes as they stepped forward, wondering when this kid had turned his life into a children's musical.

"I've got scars and lumps and a bad attitude," A tough looking Latina girl confessed, "And I've slept with half the boys in the kingdom, and let's not even mention my reputation. But despite sleeping around and being an all around bitch, I really want to make a love connection. Can't you see me with a special little la... boy. Rowing in a rowboat down the stream? I may be one rough chick, but I'm a lover, not a fighter, and I know one day I'll find someone I can fall in love with. And it'll be a nice, heterosexual kind of love, too. Cause I'm straight."

Blaine and Porcelain cocked their heads to the side in unison. Yeah, honey, you keep telling yourself that.

"Puck would like to quit and be a pool cleaner."

"Quinn does real estate."

"Mike is into dance."

"Mercedes' singing is to die for."

"Rory knits, Suger sews, Artie directs Christmas shows."

"And Brittany collects ceramic unicorns." A very tall blonde girl pulled two unicorns out of her bra - wasn't that uncomfortable? - and clicked them together.

"What about you?" Finn said to Porcelain. Porcelain shook himself back to reality - what? Blaine's 'I'm an adorable puppy who wants to help you all live your dreams no matter what it takes' act was a little distracting.

"I'm sorry. Me?" Porcelain asked.

"What's your dream?" Santana lifted him down from the post and set him on the ground. And then there was a really quiet average looking guy on the piano, and they seriously wanted him to SING this?

"No, no, no," Porcelain lifted his hands, "Sorry, guys. I don't sing."

They all pulled out their swords in unison and held them to his throat. Apparently, he did sing.

"I've got dreams like you, no really! Just much less touchy feely; they mainly happen somewhere warm and sunny." He plucked a unicorn from Brittany's hands, leading Santana to glare at him furiously - yep, oh, so heterosexual. Porcelain placed the unicorn on a mountain of some sort of gruel, using it to illustrate his words, "On an island that I own, tanned and rested and alone. Surrounded by enormous piles of money." The group cheered.

"I've got a dream," Blaine sang, as he climbed up on a table. And of course, his voice was like honey and sex all mixed up in a sunshine cookie, "I've got a dream! I just want to see the floating lanterns gleam. And with every passing hour I'm so glad I left my tower! Like all you lovely folks, I've got a dream."

Then everything devolved into a lot of singing and alcohol and dancing and Porcelain was trying to run in place on top of a wine barrel while people blew fire around him. And he was pretty sure Blaine jumped up on another piece of furniture - it was becoming quite a thing with Blaine at this point.

And then, just as it ended with them all laughing and becoming friends, the blue haired Asian returned, "I found the guards."

Everyone froze, Porcelain grabbing Blaine and looking for a place to hide.

No one noticed Sebastian staring at Blaine through the window, white with rage.


End file.
